I sit here and try to imagine what it was like. To see massive rock-schlepping machines moving these titanic boulders into place to form this breakwall must have been quite a sight.

Now, there is no memory of them left, not even perhaps in the neuronal caverns of that old fisherman there, casting his pole and flinging his live, squirming bait scores of nautical metres into the lagoon.

The light begins strengthening from behind that scrim of clouds on the horizon, no humongous cruise ship to obscure their fluffy fractal selves from my sight, here on this ledge. Behind me, the moon continues to set and I feel its baleful glare on my back, reminding me of something I have surely forgotten, or am on my way to it.

Oh, right—breathe. In, out. And imagine the day I will once again do that in the deep. In the blue green room.